I imagine holding mine
in my hands, beating organ-
fleshy and fumbling and trembling
between my thumbs and fidgeting fingers

bringing it to my mouth-

my lips- their caress, my tongue- its tease.

I imagine holding mine
in my hands and bringing it in
close enough to bite.

If I ate it,
would it slip right back inside,
into place, perhaps a better place

than where it’s been before.

I imagine holding mine
in my hands, like you did
and wondering if I could bring myself
to tear it apart

with my teeth.


All words and photographs by Damien B Donnelly



black and white
there are a thousand shades of grey

life and death
there are a million things to say

I love you
and I love you not

there is more than just hunger and hate


we are hungry
we eat (more than we should)
and then we hate

you smiled at me
in a sea of sadness I’d grown tired of
a blonde in a season of darker tones
and the distraction deluded me

                            from the truth

are we always alone,
even when we are together?

I held his hand in a taxi
while thinking of another
not yours, not his, but another

I lay in your arms at night
as you lied in mine, behind the light

between laying and lying
there exists a world of truth and disguise

we hate being alone
but devour each other when we are together

devour each other

            to the bone


All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Photograph of ‘Monument aux morts’ in Pere Lachaise Cemetery, Paris, France.